Gospel Story Finder

When I was 15 or 16, I was deeply self-absorbed and, like many of us in our adolescence, unsettled, uncertain, and vulnerable. I felt lost, self-conscious, and awkward. It didn’t help that my parents lived far away in Saudi Arabia while I was at boarding school on a desolate bit of coast in England. In terms of the school, Hogwarts with Snape would have been more welcoming.
Bad weather was common along that coast, but one winter a particularly formidable storm blew in across the Irish Sea with hurricane-force winds. Around 5,000 homes were flooded, food was running out, and people were left cut off without electricity or any means of heating and lighting their homes.
As the flood started to subside, we were dispatched by the school to help with cleaning up. I was astonished to experience such a natural disaster close up. Water and mud were everywhere. The faces of those whose homes had been flooded were ashen and gaunt. They hadn’t slept in days. My fellow schoolboys and I went to work, moving waterlogged belongings to upper floors and pulling up ruined carpet.
But what struck me most was the camaraderie that developed. There was just a wonderful, good-natured feeling among people united in a worthy cause under challenging circumstances. I later reflected that all those insecure feelings that usually consumed my teenage thoughts left while I was involved in this great effort to assist our neighbors.
The discovery that helping others was the antidote to my gloomy, self-obsessed state should have been transforming. But it wasn’t, because the discovery didn’t sink deep enough, and I failed to reflect more thoughtfully on what had taken place. That understanding came later.

After ten wonderful days in Honolulu, we set sail on the last leg of our long voyage. It was spent preparing for war. A former soldier trained the men for battle.
While we sailed, fifty to sixty men drilled for combat. They marched around the deck and practiced loading and aiming their guns. My friends and I had make-believe battles with my lead soldiers. The women kept busy stitching bolts of blue denim into uniforms for the troops.
On Friday, July 31, 1846, one month after leaving the Sandwich Islands—and nearly six months after leaving New York—we finally approached the California coast. Men, women, and children crowded the deck, eager to see where we would land at last. I tried to get a glimpse of land myself, but dense fog hung like a heavy, dark curtain in front of all of us.
The rocky shores of the Golden Gate strait were almost invisible when Captain Richardson carefully guided the Brooklyn through the narrow passage that opens into San Francisco Bay.
As eager as we were to land, we were even more anxious as to what awaited us. Would we find enemy ships in the harbor? Or Mexican soldiers on the shore? Did hidden spies watch as the Brooklyn moved slowly ahead?
Now and then the fog lifted over the bay and we could see the shore. There were no trees at all; the ground was the color of dry grass. Pelicans glided just above the surface of the water. They looked too heavy to fly any higher. Other birds, some dark, some white, soared and swooped over the waves. Occasionally we spotted bumps that looked like islands.
A shadowy shape gradually appeared in the distance. Was it a ship? Friend or foe? A wisp of something fluttered. Was it just a ribbon of fog streaking in the breeze, or was it a Mexican flag? I held my breath as we drew closer and saw a ship anchored in the harbor. The banner flapping in the wind was covered with stars and stripes! The American flag! Yerba Buena had already been captured for the United States. I couldn’t wait to go ashore, to have room to run and romp, to have a private place to think—and to eat a family meal cooked by Mama.
I studied the landing place. After the breathtaking beauty of the Juan Fernández and the Sandwich islands, Yerba Buena was downright ugly! There was nothing green at all. Skeletons of slaughtered cattle covered the sandy beach.
Droghers (clumsy barges) waited in the bay to carry their cargo of tallow and hides to the east coast. A few tired donkeys, loaded with bundles of wood, trudged along with their heads down. Some lazy loungers sprawled on the shore.
I also saw a few scrubby, gray oaks. Beyond them, a series of sand hills rose one behind the other. Several old shanties all leaned in the same direction.
While I stood on the deck, cannons from the battery boomed a salute, and the greeting was returned by the Brooklyn. A rowboat with uniformed officers from the Portsmouth, a United States military ship, approached us, and the men came aboard. One of them announced, “Ladies and gentleman, I have the honor to inform you that you are in the United States of America.”
The passengers aboard the Brooklyn gave three hearty cheers. Our long voyage was over at last.

Jason lay by the hearth, doing his homework in the firelight. But he couldn’t concentrate. The image of Mr. Rayburn’s ranch kept coming back to him, and with it the sight of the beautiful little pony the rancher had for sale. Only eighteen dollars, that’s all it would cost! he thought. But it might as well be five hundred. Jason’s father had gone to fight in the Civil War, and had left his ten-year-old son as the man of the house.
More than anything he had ever wanted before, Jason wanted a pony. But how will I ever get eighteen dollars of my own? he asked himself. All the other boys rode to school on horses. But Jason had to be up before dawn to milk the cow, feed the chickens, and then walk the long distance to school. When he wasn’t at school, Jason was busy at home, helping his mother on their farm.
Jason’s mother listened sympathetically when he told her about Mr. Rayburn’s pony. But when the boy finished, she just looked at him with a sad kind of smile. “Oh, Jason,” she said. “The pony sounds wonderful. But I’m afraid we don’t have any money to spare. We’re having a hard time now and with a new baby coming …”
“I’d forgotten for a minute about the baby. I hope it’s a girl. I’d like to have a little sister,” said Jason with a smile. “And maybe if I work extra hard, there will be enough money for a cradle.”
His mother hugged him close. “With you here to help, we’ll do just fine, Jason,” she said.
Later that night Jason climbed the ladder up to the loft where he slept. But before sleep came he couldn’t help thinking about the pony.
The next morning on his way to school, Jason saw a notice in the window of the general store:
Boys needed afternoons or evenings at the planing mill—10¢ an hour.
Ten cents an hour is a lot of money, Jason thought. I hope I can get that job after school.
The hours seemed to drag by until school was over. When the bell rang, Jason raced to the mill, but his heart sank when he saw the long line of waiting boys. At last it was his turn to apply for a job.
“How old are you, boy?” asked the man.
“Ten years old, sir. But I’ll be eleven in March. And I’m a hard worker,” replied Jason.
“I don’t think you’re old enough for a job here, son. Why don’t you try us next year?”
Jason did not move. “Please, sir, now that my father is at war, I’m the only man in the house. And I’ll work hard.”
“Well, if your dad’s away fighting, I guess we can find a job for you,” the man said.
Jason could hardly wait to tell his mother about his new job. “I know you’ll make me proud of you,” she said. “And since you’re working on your own time between school and chores, son, you may keep the money you earn.”
Jason jumped up with delight and hugged her. His chores weren’t so hard that night. In his mind he could just see himself up on the back of that little pony. It won’t matter if I don’t have a saddle. I’ll still be able to ride like the other boys, and they won’t laugh at (ridicule) me anymore, he thought.
Jason liked his work at the mill. But it became hard to study without falling asleep and even harder to get up in the mornings. As the weeks passed, Jason’s little pile of money grew. Each payday brought him closer to his goal. However, it was nearly time for the baby to be born and Jason knew that he would soon have to quit working at the mill because his mother would need more help at home. Every night when he went to bed he wondered how long he would be able to work.
The next payday Jason counted his savings. He had $19.10, and in his mind he could see the little pony in their barn. He was so busy thinking about the pony that he almost bumped into a buggy parked in their yard. He looked up and his heart leaped. It was Dr. Frank’s. The baby must have been born! He raced toward the house. Then he suddenly got sad. The cradle! Mother still didn’t have a cradle for the baby. But it really wasn’t his fault. Mother had said he could keep the money he earned. Still, he felt a little selfish. He opened the door slowly and peeked in. His grandmother was in the kitchen.
“Grandmother is it a boy or a girl?” he asked.
Grandmother smiled and put a finger to her lips, “Shh, your mother is asleep. Come and see your baby sister.”
Jason approached timidly. He had not been this close to a newborn baby before. She lay curled up in the laundry basket, wrapped in layers of blankets.
“Oh, Grandmother she’s so tiny,” he whispered.
“Your mother has named her Jenny. She looks a little like you did when you were a baby,” said Grandmother.
Jason bent down to look at the tiny fingers. They moved when he touched them and curled themselves around his larger finger. He frowned. He was the man of the house, and this little baby was partly his responsibility. How could he think of buying a pony when Jenny had no cradle?
“Grandmother I’m not very hungry. I have something important to do. Please tell Mother I’ll be back soon.”
Jason ran outside and didn’t stop till he came to the general store. Mr. Wright, the proprietor, also did woodworking as a hobby.
“Mr. Wright! My mother had a baby girl. How much would you charge to make me a cradle for her—one that rocks?”
“Well, since you’re a working man,” the storekeeper said with a twinkle in his eye, “I’ll make a real nice one for you for nine dollars. I can have it ready by Friday.”
“That’d be fine,” said Jason. As he turned to leave, he saw some baby clothes inside a showcase. “How much is that pretty little gown?” he asked. “I want to get that for Jenny too.”
All the way home Jason whistled a jaunty tune. He was sure that the real man of the house couldn’t be any happier about the new baby than her big brother was.

In the last couple of years, I have felt overwhelmed again—but in ways that have been deeper and more personal. As my family has worked through health challenges, particularly as my husband has spent extended time being treated for advanced complications due to COVID at the University of Utah, we have felt the weight of separation and uncertainty. He has always been a very healthy and vibrant individual, and now his condition is so advanced that this medical intervention is our only hope at any quality of life for Thomas. We are so grateful that he has the opportunity to be seen by the capable professionals at the University of Utah Long Covid Clinic and hope their current research can address his many debilitating and life-altering symptoms, but we miss him. We feel his absence every day, and we have no idea when he will be able to return to our home. And as I get through each day trying to make up for his absence, in our home and the lives of our children with all their individual needs, I can’t help but miss the simpler days in the BYU–Hawaii Ballroom with the cute, tall drummer in the skinny necktie. I have tried to quiet my mind from worrying, alone in my room each night, and often think back to the beginning of our story here at BYU–Hawaii—how I almost missed meeting him altogether because I showed up late that night.

What felt like such a small, almost inconvenient moment at the time has become something I hold on to now. The same God who was present in that beginning has not left us in the middle of this. If I overthink the implications of what my husband, Thomas, is going through and what our uncertain future looks like…it’s too overwhelming to even describe. It is lonely. The possibilities are devastating. And the fear I feel is debilitating and can be very isolating. This trial has seemingly dragged on with no end in sight and no guarantee of a positive outcome as we try our best to patiently wait in the unknown and take small steps to keep our faith burning brightly.

I have also seen this kind of hope through my children. There are days when I feel the weight of everything we are facing in a very real and pressing way—the uncertainty, the fear, the questions that don’t yet have answers. And then I watch my children wake up each morning, ready to begin again. They still laugh. They still make plans. They still believe that things will be okay for our family. And their simple, steady trust has been deeply faith-promoting to me. They still feel the weight of our situation, but they demonstrate through their example that we can keep going and keep believing. It has reminded me that hope is not about having all the answers—it is about choosing to believe, again and again, that God is still good and that He is still with us.

My family lived in São Paulo, Brazil. On the other side of our street, there was a forest of mangrove trees. Mangrove forests have rivers crossing through the trees. The ground is very muddy.
Many people built houses on that muddy ground. They put huge logs in the mud. Then they built their house on top of them. But when it rained, the river overflowed. The water got into their houses. Then the people had nowhere to sleep at night.
When that happened, my father would invite all of them into our home. Sometimes there were as many as 15 people! He brought them into our living room and gave them blankets. Mom made them something to eat. Then they slept in our house until the next day.
This happened at least three or four times. I remember thinking, Not very many people would take strangers in. My father was letting people we barely knew sleep in our house! But then I thought, They have nowhere else to go.
My parents always did things to help people. But their service was more than just helping and giving. It was showing love to our neighbor, even when our neighbor was somebody we didn’t know well.

Carly pretended to study her long division, but her mind was on Sara. What do you do for a friend whose mother had died?
Carly and Sara had been best friends since they were in preschool. They’d learned to ride bikes together, taken tap-dance lessons together, and done almost everything together. Carly felt as welcome in Sara’s house as she felt in her own.
But two months ago, Sara’s mother had died. Carly knew her friend was still hurting because Sara had a funny kind of look on her face all the time—the kind that made Carly want to cry.
She wanted to buy Sara a special gift, but she didn’t have very much money. Maybe she could do some extra chores and earn some money that way.
Carly hurried home after school, eager to ask her mother.
“I know you want to help,” Mother said after Carly explained her plan. “But the kind of hurt Sara has won’t go away by buying her a present.”
“I know,” Carly said. “I just wanted to remind her that I love her.”
Carly thought more about that. How could she best show Sara that she cared? She recalled the blessing her father had given her when he confirmed her a member of the Church: “I bless you with the power of understanding. Use it to bless the lives of others.”
Understanding. Carly understood some things that Sara should know.
The next day, Carly wrote her testimony on the inside cover of a copy of the Book of Mormon. She tucked it inside her backpack.
As usual, Carly and Sara sat next to each other in the cafeteria at lunch. “I have something for you,” Carly said. She handed Sara the Book of Mormon.
Sara gave Carly a strange look. “What’s this?”
“It’s one of the scriptures we have in our church. We use it along with the Bible.”
Sara opened the book to the page where Carly had written her testimony. She read it, then looked up at her friend. “You never talked about your church before.”
Embarrassed, Carly nodded. “I know.”
“Why are you giving this to me now?” Sara asked. “Because of Mom dying?”
Carly nodded again. “Reading the Book of Mormon makes me feel good inside. I want you to have that feeling too.”
“What kind of feeling?”
Carly hesitated. She had never tried to explain the feelings she had when she read the scriptures. “The kind that makes you feel good right here.” She placed a hand over her heart.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period.
The next day, Sara asked Carly more questions about the Book of Mormon. A soft happiness enfolded Carly. She knew she had given Sara the right gift.

I am writing to thank you for the article “Modesty Matters,” published in the June 2006 issue. I loved it, and it helped me so much. I was facing a dilemma because my graduation was coming up, and I didn’t know what to wear to the dance. When I went shopping I couldn’t find anything appropriate for the occasion and modest as well. I spent the day thinking about what to wear, and I even thought I wouldn’t go or I would put my standards aside and wear one of the dresses I had seen while shopping. But when I read “Modesty Matters,” I knew that I wasn’t supposed to lower my standards and that I should respect my body, my temple.
I finally decided to wear something pretty that was consistent with my principles and that I would feel good wearing before my Heavenly Father and my Savior. The best part is that my mother ended up making me a beautiful dress with her own hands and with all the love in the world. I love my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and I will never lower my standards to be like everyone else.Stephanie Magaña Talavera, Mexico

Commit yourself to serve your companion. One of the surest ways to develop love for someone else is to serve in very personal ways. Two companions who had had some difficulties in getting along discovered this principle when one of them became ill and had to be in bed for a day. Elder Blake did everything he could to help care for his sick companion. Elder Waite was especially surprised when he woke up and found that during the time that he was running a fever and sleeping, Elder Blake had cleaned and shined his shoes and also made sure that everything was in order in their apartment. “I began to realize,” said Elder Waite, “that I needed to do more to be of service to my companion. Appreciation for each other and a real friendship began to develop from that day on.”

Another entry by Elizabeth Huffaker, reflecting back, said:
I remember our first Christmas in the Valley. We all worked as usual. The men gathered sagebrush, and some plowed; for though it had snowed, the ground was still soft, and the plows were used nearly the entire day. We celebrated the day on the Sabbath (Christmas was on Saturday), when all gathered around the flagpole in the center of the Fort, and there we held a meeting. And what a meeting it was. We sang praises to God, we all joined in the evening prayer, and the speaking that day has always been remembered. . . .
. . . Many who were there for that first Christmas in the Valley later remarked that in the sense of perfect peace and good will, they never had a happier Christmas in all their lives. [Madsen, Christmas, p. 26]

Their Christmas spirit was really the peace, comfort, and sense of well-being they felt from a Heavenly Father who knew they had done their part, that they had given their all—literally—to the furthering of the kingdom on earth. He blessed them, not with material rewards, but with gifts of the Spirit.

It is getting late and Hap Putnam is still on the phone. Well, sort of. Although he dialed the number, the family’s personal computer is doing all the “talking.”

Using a computer program of the Personal Ancestral File (PAF), Hap is transmitting family history data from the family’s personal computer in Salt Lake City across the country to his grandfather’s computer in New Hampshire.

It may sound a little complex, but for Hap, 16, and his brother Frank, 17, family history and computers go hand in hand. PAF is a family history program package for personal computers that is available from the Family History Department of the Church. With the use of a personal computer and PAF, the Putnams are finding family history a little easier.

And so are a lot of other youth. Christy Gray, 14, says she enjoys using PAF because “if you goof, you can redo it” without having to retype or rework a whole pedigree chart or family group sheet.

The PAF system does not do research, but it can organize material and print out pedigree charts, family group sheets, and submission forms for temple ordinances. It’s also able to transmit this information to other computer users of the PAF system.

“A lot of kids think, ‘Oh genealogy, how boring,’” says Christy. “But I don’t think family history is boring. One Saturday I just sat at the computer and did it for hours and hours.”

Computers have always held a fascination for Frank, who learned the PAF system quickly. He’s also an old hand at family history. “My dad is a genealogist and for the last four summers I’ve worked for my grandparents and other people doing family history.”

“It’s interesting,” he says. One year while looking through land records, Frank came across deeds that belonged to George Washington. Another year he found a name his father had searched 15 years for. “I traced that line way back to about 1160,” says Frank.

After finding names and submitting them for ordinance work, there is often the opportunity to perform vicarious baptisms for the dead. “I got to go to the temple for baptisms, and it felt really great,” says Hap.

Knowing that you can help someone progress eternally is a great blessing. It is the kind of reward many young people are finding through doing their family history. And whether the research involves using a personal computer, working out of the Family History Library, or working at home, the rewards are the same.

Personal Ancestral File (release 2.0) is available in versions for MS-DOS computers, Apple computers, and CP/M computers. Inquiries into system requirements of these and other versions should be addressed to: Ancestral File Operations Unit, Family History Department, 50 East North Temple Street, Salt Lake City, Utah 84150, telephone (801) 531-2584.

Order blanks and a brochure (stock number PBGS1121) can be ordered at no charge from the Ancestral File Operations Unit or from the Church Distribution Center, 1999 W. 1700 South, Salt Lake City, Utah 84104. The PAF package sells for $35.00.

Editor’s note: In August 1987, the name of the Church’s Genealogical Department was changed to the Family History Department, and the name of the Genealogical Library was changed to the Family History Library.

One day the missionaries came to visit. John likes to ask missionaries where they are from, what their families are like, and how many people they are teaching and baptizing. But on this day he asked them how they paid for their missions. Parents and family members often give support, the missionaries explained. “I want to pay for my own mission,” John said. At 10 years old, he’s well on his way to being ready for his mission in more ways than one.

Using the two dollars, Geoff has done everything from leaving quarters on a bubblegum machine to buying dollar-movie tickets for the people behind him in line. One time, Geoff saw some homeless men outside of a fast-food restaurant. “I went through the drive-through, and by the time I got my food, the men were leaving. I got out of my car and chased them half a block before I had the chance to give some food to them.”

Most people don’t start thinking about Christmas until jolly songs play on the radio and festive decor fills the malls. But Rachel H. was thinking about it back in May of 2010. She wasn’t waiting for any physical present; instead, she was preparing to audition for and perform in Savior of the World: His Birth, a musical production depicting the birth of Jesus. When she auditioned for the stake production, she didn’t realize how much of a gift the experience would be.
When the cast list was posted a few weeks later, Rachel was excited to see that she had been given the part of Mary in one of the two casts. “I was so happy to have been chosen to play the part of Mary. I was excited but very nervous,” she recalls. Rachel was just one of nearly 300 youth who participated in the production.
Preparing for Savior of the World was a daunting task, especially with so many youth participating. The teens were grouped into two casts—the red cast and the blue cast—to allow more youth to participate. Each cast had over 40 assigned parts, a dance ensemble, and an angel choir with about 50 performers.
Rehearsals began in mid-August and continued until the show’s performances started in mid-November. Brie S. (Mary’s Mother, red cast) recalls her initial feelings on the amount of time they had to put into the production. “The four-hour practices every Saturday afternoon were not very appealing,” Brie says. “But whenever I chose to fulfill my promise of attending rehearsal, I was always blessed with a happy feeling. I’m so grateful for the opportunity I had to be in Savior of the World. I gained a stronger testimony of the divine truths our Savior has given us.”
Throughout the months of practice and especially on the days leading up to and during the six performances, the cast members relied heavily on prayer. “Before every performance, my counterpart and I would pray to perform with the Spirit and that we could help those in the audience feel the same Spirit we felt throughout all our rehearsals,” says Taylor H. (Zacharias, blue cast).
When problems arose, the cast members and production staff noticed many blessings that allowed them to perform the musical.
Shawn G. (Joseph, red cast) remembers how one of his props would malfunction whenever he prepared to go on stage. “Every time I would attempt to turn on my battery-powered candle, it would quickly turn off. No matter how many times I pushed the button and fidgeted with the batteries, the candle would not light backstage,” he says. “However, every single time I went out on stage, it always lit perfectly without fail.”
On the final night of the performance, one of the microphones wasn’t working. “With minutes to go until the start of the show, the directors still couldn’t get this person’s microphone to work. One of the backstage managers began to walk through the halls and ask everyone in sight to say a prayer, asking for help with the technical difficulty,” Brie recalls. “Before bowing my head, I looked around me to see every single cast member humbly bowing his or her head to pray in faith to our Father in Heaven. Sure enough, as we sang the opening number and started the show, all of the microphones were working perfectly.”
In addition to witnessing miracles, the cast members felt spiritually uplifted by the music of the show.
Jamie V. (Elizabeth, blue cast) shares her experience, saying, “I remember the music in particular and what a huge role it played in delivering the message of the Savior. When I performed my scene with music, I was so overcome with the Spirit and I knew that it was the Lord’s work we were doing.”
Catherine H. (Angel Choir, red cast) had similar feelings about the impact of the music: “Savior of the World brought on such a constant powerful and spiritual feeling every time we worked on it,” she says. “When we sang ‘Come Deliver Us,’ you could just feel the power of the music and the emotions of the song. I was so grateful to bear my testimony through song.”
Even after the production had finished, the cast members found strength and comfort in the music from the show. Lauren A. (Shepherd Jeshua, blue cast) talks about the testimony meeting that followed the final performance: “After we bore our testimonies, our leaders decided to close by singing one of the songs—‘Come, Lord Jesus.’ The second we stood up and began singing, the Spirit in the room was strengthened even more.”
For many of the youth, performing in Savior of the World had a profound effect on their testimonies of the gospel and of Jesus Christ.
Taylor recalls his experience as one of growth. “Savior of the World has forever changed how I will think about Christmas,” he says. “As I knelt as at the scene of Mary, Joseph, and the infant Savior, the Spirit testified to me that my Savior lives. The experience I had brought me more joy and happiness than I ever imagined. I now have a much deeper understanding for why Christ’s birth was heralded by angels and mortals alike.”
Daniel M. (Joseph, blue cast) says, “I felt so grateful to be a witness of this special moment that testifies to me that the Savior of this world did come to us in a humble stable to loving parents who knew of the sacredness of their calling. I now know so much more about my Savior’s birth and about how Mary and Joseph must have felt to be the ones chosen to raise this holy child.”
Rachel’s greatest Christmas gift was her strengthened testimony as a result of the production. “I grew so much closer to the Savior through prayers, scripture study, and pondering. He blessed me with a calm assurance that He cares about me. I was so worried, but when I just trusted in Him, He helped me to replace my fear with faith.”

Several years ago, Amy Stohl didn’t know exactly why she accepted a position as an au pair (similar to a nanny) with an LDS military family living in Belgium. She just felt right about it. She enjoyed her time with the Robert McBride family, and they became close friends.
Soon, however, Amy was back at BYU, where she continued work on her pre-med requirements. But she became convinced that medical school just wouldn’t be right for her, and she switched to a humanities major.
A couple of years later, the McBrides, now assigned to the U.S. Military Academy, called to tell Amy about a cadet named Shaun Greene. He’d been a student at BYU before, but was now at West Point. He was going to be at BYU for a couple of days in the fall to watch a football game, and they’d like her to meet him. Shaun and Amy got acquainted and began writing to each other.
By January, Amy was close to graduation, but was planning to stay at BYU for one more semester. “But I became restless,” she says. “I prayed for guidance, and I felt something important was coming up.”
She talked to the McBrides and decided to move to Manhattan. “I found a place to live, had a job lined up, even arranged to finish my degree by correspondence,” Amy says. “Everything seemed to be working out.

“But when I visited West Point, I had a strong impression that I had to stay, isolated as it was, so that I could understand Shaun and what he had been through. I don’t know that anyone can fully understand a cadet’s thinking without spending time at West Point.”
The understanding grew. In fact, now Shaun and Amy see each other every evening.
It’s graduation day at West Point. Time for the final parade. And even though rain will soak cadets and spectators alike, it won’t matter. Tomorrow the sun will shine, bright and hot, and the graduates, dressed in white because their gray uniforms were ruined by the storm, will receive their diplomas and commissions from the President of the United States.
A few days later, Shaun and Amy will enter the Washington D.C. Temple to be married for time and eternity. Oh, sure, by July Shaun has to report for additional training. But before that, there’s a honeymoon to attend to. It’s a matter of putting first things first.

“Read the scriptures again? I’ve already done that for two years and made it through each of the standard works four times!”
Thus wrote a returned missionary after I challenged my institute class to read and ponder the scriptures twenty minutes each day for a month.

Those reactions justified my confidence in the scriptures. The returned missionary who had resented the assignment wrote, “I have rediscovered an exciting adventure. I have once again astonished myself with the wonder of learning and understanding the gospel as it has been presented to us by the prophets. The gospel has become even more relevant in these last few weeks than ever before. I understand more clearly that faith and the strength of one’s testimony are things that vary from day to day and must be kept current.”

Joseph Smith’s life was an example of unselfish sacrifice for the gospel of Jesus Christ. Though the Prophet Joseph suffered greatly, he remained optimistic and overcame many persecutions. Parley P. Pratt tells of a heartrending experience of being with the Prophet in jail in Missouri in the winter of 1838–39. Those six months of suffering and confinement tutored this foreordained, preeminent Prophet.
In the jail the Prophet and his brethren had listened to the boasting and the despicable abuses the guards had committed among the “Mormons.” Finally the Prophet could abide their sordid cursing no longer. Suddenly, he stood and in “a voice of thunder” said: “ ‘SILENCE, ye fiends of the infernal pit. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still. …’
“He stood erect in terrible majesty. Chained, and without a weapon; calm, unruffled and dignified as an angel. … [The quaking guards shrank] into a corner,” dropped their weapons, “begged his pardon, and remained quiet till a change of guards.”
Brother Pratt writes further: “I have seen the ministers of justice, clothed in magisterial robes … ; I have witnessed a Congress in solemn session … ; I have tried to conceive of kings, of royal courts, of thrones and crowns … ; but dignity and majesty have I seen but once, as it stood in chains, at midnight, in a dungeon in an obscure village of Missouri.”

“Dad loves to work in the yard and to build things. He also has a great sense of humor,” recalled one of his sons. “Once while I was courting my wife, I told her jokes early one evening. She laughed but only to be polite. Then I took her to supper at my home, and my father told all the same jokes to her during dinner. He sometimes laughs so hard at his or others’ jokes that he has to leave the room until he can quit laughing.
“And speaking of courting, I remember a night when my sister Jane had a date with a boy who had grown a fine beard (fine enough to win a recent beard contest). However, the boy was very nervous about coming to our home, and he didn’t know if Dad would approve of his beard. He finally became so concerned that he shaved it off and appeared at our front door that evening clean-shaven. You know, my father was very touched by that.”

Great friendships, of course, can be formed at any age.

Sean C., a 16-year-old from southern Utah, USA, knows how to be a friend as well as a home teacher. Sean has a broad range of interests that include competing in rodeo, wrestling, working with cattle, and repairing cars. He also loves cultivating friendships with the people he home teaches.

“I love talking to people and seeing what I can do to help them,” Sean says.

His home teaching companion is the bishop of their ward. In one home they visit, the wife is a member of the Church and the husband is not. Sean connected with the husband, Floyd, on their very first visit. As Floyd began talking about his Jeep, Sean perked up. “We just clicked,” says Sean.

In the year that Sean and the bishop have visited Floyd and his wife, Sean has strengthened those friendships—including helping Floyd work on engines from time to time.

One of Sean’s favorite scriptures is about service: “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

Sean explains, “Everybody needs to be looking out to find ways to serve.”

Our benefits from worship in the temple have extended beyond blessing our children. On one occasion, my husband faced a very perplexing employment problem that he decided to take to the temple. On that day, the Lord blessed him with the impression that a particular scripture was the answer to his question.

Upon arriving home, he anxiously opened the scriptures and, to his delight, found help for his problem. This experience opened up a whole new application of the scriptures. The Lord can speak to His children by reminding us of scriptures that contain answers to our challenges. We appreciate this principle we learned in the temple.

Prayer at Gethsemaneby Del Parson“For, behold, the Lord your Redeemer suffered death in the flesh; wherefore he suffered the pain of all men, that all men might repent and come unto him” (D&C 18:11).
Del Parson
Christ is my hero. I love to read about Him and His life. It is humbling to try to portray Him in art.
My art has been greatly influenced by the guidance given in my patriarchal blessing. It gave direction for my work. Early in my career, my wife and young daughter were in a car accident. At that time I felt as if the Holy Ghost showered me with comfort and God’s love. This love is what I try to express in my paintings of the Savior.